The Tragedy of Conservato
by Alarid
Summary: A small-scale epic poem  lol wat  describing a severely underrepresented figure in Golden Sun: Conservato.  In the Tragedy of Conservato, I sought to give this crotchety old Lemurian some personality, and in the process, perhaps write something pretty.


**PROLOGUE**__

There was a boy, on misty isle, in times  
of old. His name was Conservato. He  
was a bright and energetic lad, who  
oft was seen with bounce in step, fleet of foot,  
racing 'cross the foggy moors, in chase of  
dreams.

Conservato was a lad known for always getting into trouble

He would tap stones against the window during Lemurian Senate sessions. He would put bubble bath in the Fountains. He would put up fake flyers for Royal Speeches, and the Islanders would mill around in front of the castle for hours before anybody realized that the King hadn't actually called a meeting.

"Conservato," they would say grimly, and go back to their work, annoyed.

He seemed to think everything was a joke. But whenever he was confronted, he was sedate and obedient as one would expect any well-raised Lemurian to be - until he had hatched a new plot. The Lemurians even coined a new phrase to describe him: "in one ear and out the other." But as much as his antics troubled them, he was a source of joy. In an island of monotony and unchange, Conservato was a beloved source of good cheer.__

There was a girl, on misty isle, in times  
of old. Her name was Althea. She was  
a sweet, musical, and pretty maid, who  
oft was seen, flowers in hand, voice raised up,  
singing songs, as if a siren from one's  
dreams.

Althea was a lass known for always singing.

She would be humming absently to herself in the back of class. Her parents had to remind her not to sing at the table. She would install herself in the oddest of places: in trees, on a statue in the fountains, or on an overlook, and make use of her sweet voice for hours at a time, and the Islanders would find excuses to walk past her, cherishing her clear and beautiful voice.

"Ah, it is Althea," they would say, hearing a sad melody, and smiling as they tried to continue to focus on what they are doing.

She seemed to think every occasion wanted for a song. But whenever her song ended, she couldn't help get a feeling of disappointment and sadness. She always chose achingly beautiful songs to sing, even in happy times. The Lemurians described her as a "caged bird, singing her heart out." But as much as her songs cheered them, she was a source of worry. In an island of no sickness and rare deaths, Althea was a reminder that all things drew to a close eventually.

This tale is one of incredible gravity and seriousness. It is the tale of these two Lemurians, Conservato and Althea, as they grew so close that their souls touched for a moment, and then they were torn asunder forever.****

PART ONE__

"The sun is best," assured Conservato,  
sitting on a sun-warmed stone.  
Across him sat gentle Althea,  
blue hair spread out as she lay prone.  
"She rules the day and warms our bones."

"The moon is best," disagreed Althea,  
gazing at the sunset bright.  
Across her sat Conservato,  
waiting for the imminent night.  
"She bathes us in pearly, delicate light."

The two friends sat, watching sunset,  
no longer children, yet not fully-grown.  
In the union of day and night,  
with colors dampened to muted tones,  
sat these two friends on a sun-warmed stone.

"I will say why day is best,"  
said Conservato suddenly.  
"It's easier for me to clearly see you  
and gaze upon your wonderful beauty."  
Althea blushed and turned, so Conservato wouldn't see.

"I will say why night is best,"  
said Althea as waves broke upon the strand.  
"Its quieter, it's more peaceful,  
and nobody sees when I hold your hand."  
Waves crashed and broke incessantly, and night crept upon the land.

The two friends sat, joined together,  
both by hands and maybe heart.  
In the union of day and night,  
alone in the lonely seaside park,  
their beautiful story had yet to even start.****

PART TWO__

The two youths grew in stature and mind  
coloring the Island with their actions.  
Conservato and Althea, the inseperable two,  
The girl with her songs and distractions,  
the boy with his humorous and many minor infractions.

Time stretched and blurred, and seemed to stop.  
The isle of Lemuria was under enchantment.  
Grass grew, waves crashed, life proceeded as usual,  
gentle rains and sunny skies came and went,  
Conservato schemed and Althea sang laments.

Yet even in Lemuria, time passes yet,  
though slow it traveled, exceedingly slow.  
Even Lemurians noted that Conservato and Althea aged,  
though exceedingly slow they both did grow.  
One fateful day, there came news of great woe.

Sickness was in Lemuria rare  
though sickly hearts were sometimes seen.  
Gentle, sweet, and beautiful Althea  
one day collapsed while in a field, green.  
Conservato found her later under light selene.

He roused her quickly, his heart hammered hard.  
"Althea!" he cried, "wake thou! What ails you?"  
The girl's lashes fluttered to match her heart.  
"Conservato," she breathed, her face sickly blue.  
"I'll have help for you," he promised, "in a moment or two."

She made it back to the City alive,  
though a wonder it was, for she'd been gone long.  
Conservato attended her bedside with the doctors,  
encouraging his friend to take heart and be strong.  
"We can't wait, once more, to hear your songs!"

She recovered slowly, and not all the way.  
The heartsickness can never be fully purged.  
Althea floated around the island, pale as snow,  
Incrementally, her songs once more emerged.  
So sad were they, livlier tunes were urged.

Conservato, for his part, grew closer to Althea,  
and Althea loved him more and more.  
He understood when she needed rests,  
he walked with her by the seashore.  
He knew what her sad songs were for.

Their walks grew longer, their company tight,  
Conservato and Althea soon waxed mature.  
The steady beacon of adulthood was in their eyes.  
Their solace was each other; walks on the beaches and moors.  
But for Althea's ailment there was no cure.

Time rolled by like ocean waves,  
steady and constant, year after year.  
Conservato and Althea wedded joyously,  
among bells and food and friends and cheer.  
Althea's poor heart was a distant fear.

For a while, she flourished, seemingly whole,  
basking in her gentle husband's care.  
All of Lemuria marveled at this, as  
Seeing Conservato sedate was previously so rare.  
And against their love, nothing could compare;

He was the sun, and she was the moon.  
He lit her days, gave the spark of life.  
His love was boundless like the sea,  
and never incited quarrels or strife.  
She, in turn, was a loving wife.

No children had they - they needed none.  
Althea's heart was unfit anyhow.  
He did scribe work to bring home gold,  
she arranged choral music with knitted brow.  
They had each other, they had their vows.

Time rolled by like ocean waves,  
steady and constant, never with pause.  
Conservato and Althea lived in bliss.  
Never could they find in each other flaws.  
They rested, content, in love's great jaws.

Their union was intense. It grew by day.  
The Islanders wondered at this, and said  
"It is strange that these two are bound so tight.  
They seemed so unlike at first; unless I'm misled,  
their love is stronger now than it was when they wed!"

This was the noontide of their love.  
Untouched by sickness, untouched by doubt.  
Their souls were one, their being merged,  
for each other their love they poured out.  
Their marriage was beautiful, enduring, and stout.****

PART THREE__

But all great things must draw to a close.  
The happy couple wished never to part.  
Still, other forces work in this wide world,  
Other forces cruel, subtle, and smart.  
Fate had named its time for Althea's heart.

One evening, on a stroll through the city,  
Althea's pulse raced out of control.  
Conservato at once brought her to the Doctor,  
who pulled out several treatises and scrolls.  
Said Althea, "we didn't get to finish our stroll."

"Irregular heartbeat," the doctor finally announced,  
sounding grim, tired, and strained.  
"Can lead to worse, and that I fear,"  
his apprehension was clearly not feigned.  
Althea's face grew small and pained.

After that night, her activity dropped.  
She stayed indoors and began to languish.  
Her smiles were still true, but also wan,  
Her face grew pale in times of anguish.  
Her appetite shrank. She was enfamished.

One day she called Conservato in,  
he asked "what cheer?" to raise her mood.  
She smiled weakly and drew him close.  
"I want so sing a song for you,  
a final song before I'm through..."

Conservato gripped her hand,  
knowing that she did not jest.  
He did not raise his voice, he did not bargain.  
He only listened, he did not protest.  
Then sun filtered in through the west.

"It's night-time soon," Althea whispered.  
"Time for me to go and sleep.  
Come sit down beside my bed -  
don't say a word! Don't make a peep!"  
For Conservato had begun to weep.

Althea finally began to sing.  
She sang, half-whispered, and half-sung.  
Conservato hearkened intensely,  
Her hands he held, his head he hung.  
Her hands were colder than when she was young.

Then he looked up and met her eyes,  
she gazed at him full levelly.  
Love flowed between them, like never before.  
They were lost in a calméd sea,  
Never before had they communed so tranquilly.

Althea sang her own sad dirge  
while Conservato sat bedside.  
She sang her love for Conservato  
until she suddenly stopped, wide-eyed.  
But her death was kind, like a gentle tide.

Conservato closed her eyes  
and kissed her gently on her cheek.  
For quite some time he didn't move.  
He was in shock, his limbs felt weak.  
He was sure he couldn't even speak.

Althea's soul departed during dusk,  
the colorful union of night and day.  
It could only be so, for the two of them  
lived together in such a way.  
They lived together, night and day.  
In such a way she passed away,  
during the union of night and day.

**EPILOGUE**__

There was a man, on misty isle, in times  
of old. His name was Conservato. He  
was a grim, broken, embittered soul, who  
oft was seen with books in hand, plodding on,  
trying to erase thoughts and forget his  
dreams.

He had known all along that marrying Althea would hasten her end. The exertion of love - the act of ultimate giving - was the most demanding thing one could ask of a body. The doctor knew it. Conservato knew it. Althea knew it. In in the terrible grief Althea's death, Conservato began to blame himself for the end of the singing dove of Lemuria. The sun was no longer a source of joy to him. The moon mocked him, reminding him of a long-gone evening on a flat rock, talking about silly childish things and flirting in silly childish ways.

One morning, arising once again to bitter heartbreak and dry eyes from nighttime tears, Conservato embraced the monotony and thoughtlessness of Lemuria. It was a balm to him. He embraced the Island's constitution and bylaws, he embraced the unchanging mist. He no longer walked on the beach or the moors. He never left the City, and seldom left the Royal Library or the Senate dome. He became wise, shrewd, and powerful. Each moment of his life was spent trying to forget the memory of Althea. He grew to hate the love he once had. It was the source of his unbearable pain. He burnt her choral arrangements and threw her belongings into the sea. He had her gravestone changed to be unmarked. He spent so much energy killing his memories and his love that he actually succeeded. He became the opposite of everything he used to be: impatient, angry, stubborn, strict, and cruel. Misery, depression, and spite followed him for the rest of his days.


End file.
